Wei Ling did not sleep well that night. The next morning, his face was as dark as iron when he stepped out. At the doorway, he ran into Song Xian, who had just woken as well, but he ignored her.
Back in the study, he immediately summoned Bai Yi. “The physician who examined Madam last time—did he say anything?”
Bai Yi had scarcely seen him these past few days and hadn’t reported the matter. He was puzzled—hadn’t the Master spent the night in the rear courtyard? Why not ask Madam directly?
“The physician said Madam has no major issues. The wound on her forehead is healing well. Only…” Bai Yi hesitated, “…only he said Madam’s pulse is weak and thin, her blood lacking in vigor. She should be carefully nourished.”
“Bring the physician here.” Wei Ling’s brows furrowed, his expression carrying a trace of hostility.
Last night, he had clearly seen what she carried out of the bathing room. He had immediately recalled her earlier excuse about being unwell. Just as he was about to ask, she had fled as though avoiding him like the plague.
Though a man, he knew a little about women’s monthly matters. But the last time she had said so was nearly half a month ago—how could it last so long?
He hadn’t even intended to force her. If she didn’t wish it, a single word would suffice. Yet she had used such a clumsy excuse to reject him.
The more he thought, the more stifled he felt. He seized the teapot at hand and drank heavily.
The physician was soon brought in. After hearing the reason, he explained: “Madam suffers from blood deficiency. It makes one weak, but with proper care, there is no great danger. She will still be able to bear children.”
“Children?” Wei Ling’s brows knit tighter.
Sensing the chill in the air, the physician hurried to elaborate: “Yes. In cases of blood deficiency, the womb grows cold, menstruation becomes irregular, and conception is difficult. In mild cases, one feels fatigued and weary; in severe cases, fainting, vomiting, or even death may occur. But Madam seems to be taking medicine. Though her pulse is thin, it remains steady.”
The physician spoke at length, while Wei Ling fell silent.
Bai Yi was utterly shocked and quickly said: “Yes, yes, Madam did faint once some days ago, but fortunately she woke up again.”
“I see.” The physician nodded, then turned to Wei Ling: “Sir, you must take care. Until Madam’s condition is properly regulated, pregnancy is not advisable.”
Wei Ling lifted his eyes to the physician, and after a pause, asked: “Why would she be like this?”
The Wei family might not equal the imperial clan, but they lived in comfort. His sister‑in‑law managed the household well, never neglecting anyone. And Song Xian was the daughter of Marquis Suqing—how could she suffer such an illness?
“I dare not give a definite answer,” the physician replied. “It may be congenital, or from overwork, or long‑standing emotional strain, or perhaps from improper medicine. All are possible.” Seeing Wei Ling’s dark expression, he assumed it was worry and added reassuringly: “Sir need not be anxious. With proper care, Madam can live no differently than others.”
Wei Ling gave a slight nod and waved for Bai Yi to escort the physician out. He had thought she disliked him and had invented excuses. He never imagined it was truly like this. He had wronged her.
The gloom of the morning lifted. When Bai Yi returned, Wei Ling instructed: “Go see if Madam’s rooms lack anything—supply it all. And if Mother sends word, refuse her. Say it is by my order.”
“Yes.”
With that, Wei Ling left the study, and Bai Ze, waiting at the door, immediately followed.
Song Xian was in good spirits today. After receiving Uncle Zhang’s letter, she prepared to go out. But remembering what had happened last time in Yongxing Lane, she grew more cautious and asked Bai Yi to send along two sturdy servants to accompany her.
Uncle Zhang’s message hadn’t specified the matter, but she still needed to go. She had run out of cloth, so it was a good chance to check the cloth shop for suitable bolts, and she also had something to discuss with him.
As she passed the mouth of the alley, Song Xian suddenly recalled the man she had rescued last time. Since then, Uncle Zhang hadn’t reported anything, and the authorities had shown no movement—so it seemed all was well.
Today, Yongxing Lane was livelier than in recent days. Vendors lined both sides of the street, their cries filling the air. Walking and stopping along the way, it took some time before they reached the cloth shop.
Inside, there were few customers. Uncle Zhang came forward to greet her. “Second Lady, you’ve come.”
“Yes. Did you call me here because something’s the matter?” Song Xian asked, glancing at the shelves of fabric as she walked. “Uncle Zhang, do you have any pure cotton or linen here?”
High‑grade fabrics were unlikely to be found here, but ordinary cotton and linen should still be in stock.
Song Xian went up to the shelves and touched a few bolts of cloth displayed outside, murmuring to herself: “This won’t do—too coarse.”
Standing nearby, Uncle Zhang kept glancing toward the back courtyard, hesitating as he watched her examine the cloth.
“This one won’t do either—too light, not suitable.” Song Xian didn’t notice his actions and continued her search.
After quickly checking one shelf, she shook her head. None of it would do. These fabrics would never appeal to noble families. So she gave up the idea of choosing cloth and said: “Uncle Zhang, I came today to ask—whose household do you usually source your goods from? Are they familiar with us?”
Uncle Zhang, after listening, glanced back again. Following his gaze, Song Xian saw the hem of a robe flash quickly past the back courtyard gate—so fast it was only a shadow.
Only then did Uncle Zhang speak: “Second Lady, today it isn’t me who has business with you. It’s the young master you saved last time—he wishes to thank you in person. I couldn’t refuse him.”
“Young Master Xiao?”
“Yes. That day, the one you rescued was the young master of the Marquis Yongyi’s household. Later that evening, his men came to take him away. This morning, he returned to express his gratitude. I told him it was you who saved him, and he insisted on thanking you face‑to‑face. His words seemed sincere, not false, so I sent word to you.”
Song Xian hadn’t expected such a twist and was momentarily stunned.
“Second Lady, please wait a moment. I’ll fetch him.”
Meanwhile, Xiao Hengyi had just reached the back gate and suddenly laughed. What was he doing, being nervous? It was only to thank his benefactor—what was there to fear?
His attendant murmured in awe: “This young lady doesn’t look like an ordinary person. She seems even more—”
Xiao Hengyi shot him a glance, and the attendant instantly fell silent.
Just then, Uncle Zhang came to find him. Xiao Hengyi calmed himself and followed him back into the cloth shop.
Song Xian truly hadn’t expected that the man she had casually saved was the young master of Marquis Yongyi’s household. That meant he was Chen Zhian’s younger brother-in-law.
Thinking of this, Song Xian felt relieved—thankful she hadn’t abandoned him that day. Otherwise, if he learned his future sister‑in‑law had left him to die, who knew how he might speak of Chen Zhian before the eldest son of the Xiao family.
When Uncle Zhang appeared at the doorway with a young man, Song Xian almost didn’t recognize him. That day, his hair had been disheveled, his face streaked with blood, his features only faintly discernible. But today he was strikingly handsome—tall, straight‑backed, smiling, clearly of noble birth.
Xiao Hengyi stepped forward, bowed with clasped hands, and said in a clear voice: “I am Xiao Hengyi. I thank you, young lady, for saving my life that day.”